


Skulls (by Nat)

by cah_avengers



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Another sad one, i'm sorry guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cah_avengers/pseuds/cah_avengers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky starts to remember who he is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skulls (by Nat)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is based off of Bastille's song 'Skulls.' It fits Bucky really well and I highly suggest listening to it as you read.

_I came here for sanctuary,_

_Away from the winds and the sounds of the city_

_I came here to get some peace_

_Way down deep where the shadows are heavy_

I pulled my jacket sleeve down lower, hoping the metal wasn’t bulging out to much. Not many people seemed to be out at night. I wasn’t about to complain.

The wind blew my hair around my face, hiding the deep scratch along my cheek. Turns out escaping from a top-secret facility isn’t all that easy, even with a metal arm.  But I escaped anyway.

I stop as I come up to my destination. The signs at the entrance seem peaceful, somehow, in the dark. I knock on the front glass doors in case someone was still in the building. No luck. With a sigh, I grip the door with my left arm. The metal fingers tap lightly against the glass. I pull back, covering my face with my other arm to avoid the shattered glass. No alarms go off, so I assume it’s safe.

The quiet dark of the museum envelopes me as I step inside.

_I can’t help but think of you_

_In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander_

_To some distant century,_

_When everyone we know is six feet under_

The man from the bridge is plastered all over the walls, along with various notes depicting his achievements. I silently continue my trek through the museum, stopping here and there to look closer at a picture or read a note. The carpeted path leads me to a display of uniforms, the one the guy from the bridge was wearing in front. I turn, expecting to see more uniforms, but instead I’m greeted with a picture of…me? When did I have short hair? I served in the army with the man from the bridge? I died?

_When all of our friends are dead and just a memory,_

_And we’re side by side it’s always been just you and me_

_For all to see_

I continue to stare at the wall, until I notice the name written in bold at the top. “James Buchannan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.” The man…he called me Bucky…

My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate. _Who the hell is Bucky?_  Suddenly images of people flash through my mind, including a small skinny kid that looks like the person on the bridge. _Steve. Steve Rogers._ I open my eyes and go back to the uniforms. I remember Steve. I know him.

_When our lives are over, and all that remains_

_Are our skulls and bones, let’s take it to the grave_

_Hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms_

_I’ll be buried here with you_

_And I’ll hold in these hands, all that remains_

The uniform on the right of Steve’s is my old one. I fought alongside that kid more times than I care to count. That was the uniform I was wearing when I first fought alongside my best friend. He’d been so proud to lead his own unit.

_I don’t want to rest in peace,_

_I’d rather be the ghost that annoys you._

_I hope you can make me laugh_

_Six feet down when we’re bored of each other_

That’s why Steve was so hurt when I didn’t know who Bucky was. He thought I’d died seventy years ago. I had died though…hadn’t I? No. I’d lost my arm and it had been replaced with a metal one instead. I’d been tortured for the second time. It hurt more this time around than back in the war. Steve wasn’t there to save me this time. He couldn’t come rescue me.

_A match is our only light_

_It’s day of the dead I’m Indiana Jones here_

_These coins sit upon our eyes_

_Pool our funds and pay the boat together_

All those uniforms on the stand. I knew the people who wore them. We fought together, I think. We’d sat around the bar, talking about our plans when the war was over. We were going to travel, I think. See the world. They wanted to see England. Especially…Pinky. He wanted to visit his family. I hope he did.

_When all of our friends are dead and just a memory,_

_And we’re side by side it’s always been just you and me_

_For all to see._

I didn’t know if all of them were still alive or not. I only knew Steve was alive. He’s survived so much, the little punk. He’s probably in a hospital right now. I hurt him pretty badly. I’d almost killed him.

_When our lives are over, and all that remains_

_Are our skulls and bones, let’s take it to the grave_

_Hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms_

_I’ll be buried here with you_

_And I’ll hold in these hands, all that remains_

I start to turn back, walking slowly through the museum. I remember taking that picture with Steve; it was right before he went to go film a movie. He never let it get to his head. He just did as he was told. Except for that time he went behind the colonels’ back to rescue the 107th. I couldn’t help the small smile about my lips as I exited the building.

_Now it’s all before you_

_Hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms_

Stepping over the broken glass, I stop for a second and listen to the silence. For once, there were no voices screaming in my head. There was no sound of machines working on my arm or someone telling me what to do. I was free.

_When our lives are over, and all that remains_

_Are our skulls and bones, let’s take it to the grave_

_Hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms_

_I’ll be buried here with you_

_And I’ll hold in these hands, all that remains_

I carried on with walking, leaving the building behind me. No matter how hard I tired, I couldn’t go back to my old life. Everyone I had known was either dead or thought I died. Except Steve. It was always Steve, wasn’t it?

“I’m with you until the end of the line, pal.” I whispered to the concrete.


End file.
